


five times phillip carlyle didn’t find out he was going to be a father

by starblessed



Series: everything you ever want, everything you ever need [1]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Racism, Pregnancy, Secrets, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: “I think I have some news,” says Anne.Phillip looks up from his desk, brows raising at the sight of his wife. Anne says “news” the way anyone else might say “severed toe” or “highly contagious disease”. He sits up straight.“What is it? Are you alright?”“Fine, I’m —“ Anne says hastily, then cuts herself off. There’s a flicker of panic in her eyes. “I’mgreat.”





	five times phillip carlyle didn’t find out he was going to be a father

**Author's Note:**

> tw for a non-explicit vomiting scene in part two (starts from "Lettie finds Anne in her old tent")

_i. phillip_

“I think I have some news,” says Anne.

Phillip looks up from his desk, brows raising at the sight of his love (his wife — it’s been eight weeks now, but he still has to remind himself). Anne says “news” the way anyone else might say “severed toe” or “highly contagious disease”. The look on her face — a stir of excitement, mixed with such overwhelming anxiety that she’s nearly drowning in it — doesn’t bode any better.

Phillip sits up straight, immediately prepared to comfort her, or go argue with someone else. Whatever will solve the problem that’s making Anne look like that, he’ll do it.

“What is it? Are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m —“ Anne says hastily, then cuts herself off. There’s a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “I’m great.”

“That’s… great.” Now Phillip’s really concerned. “What’s going on?”

Anne has to pause and take a deep breath, visibly grounding herself, before answering. She crosses her hands over her middle, then quickly drops them. One hand comes up to fidget with a stray curl at the side of her face, while the other worries at the hem of her blouse. “I,” she says, then cuts herself off. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, no sound coming out. “I think that I — that we — that _I —“_

She genuinely chokes this time, a weird coughing noise in the back of her throat. She looks like she wishes she could swallow her own tongue. Frustration lines her face at her inability to get the words out.

Instinctively, Phillip leaps to his feet and crosses the room towards her. Anne doesn’t so much as whimper when he draws her into his arms. She only breathes against him, savoring the feeling of his hand rubbing into her shoulder blades.

“Whatever it is, it’s alright,” he whispers into the side of her head. “We’ll face it together.”

“Together.” She echoes the word like a prayer. Her hand comes up to cup the back of Phillip’s head. She places a soft kiss against his collarbone before pulling away.

“You’re right,” she nods. “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Phillip confirms. “Now please, tell me what’s going on.”

Anne takes a deep breath. “I think that I’m…” she says, and then stops.

It’s like the ball slips out of her hands. The words brimming on the top of her tongue spill back into the darkness, out of reach. Her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and Phillip swears he can see the nerve leave her.

“I’m working on a new routine and I’d like you to see it when I’m done!” she says in a single breath.

Phillip blinks, drawing back. A new routine? That’s all?

Then again, Anne is a perfectionist in her work. She never allows her tricks to be anything less than sublime. Maybe there’s a stunt she just can’t master yet, and it’s grinding on her nerves. Whenever something is underneath her skin, that’s always a good guess.

There’s a nagging certainty in the back of Phillip’s mind that screams this isn’t about work, but he pushes it aside. He _wants_ to believe it’s just this, not something truly horrible. (If it were awful, Anne would tell him. He _knows_ her.) He needs to believe it.

So he huffs a laugh, running a hand down her mess of curls. “That’s it? Of course I’ll see it. I’m sure whatever you’re working on will be absolutely beautiful.”

Anne’s smile is faint, and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she responds. “I sure hope so.”

* * *

 

_ii. lettie_

Six minutes into rehearsal for their latest set, Anne hits the ground on her hands and knees.

For a moment, Lettie doesn’t notice. She’s too caught up in her own performance; dancing around the ring and hitting the right notes at the right time require more focus than you’d think. (Sometimes she admires Barnum, and Carlyle, for never tripping over their own feet or running headfirst into a flaming hoop in the middle of their flamboyant performances.)

Lettie has just raised her arms for the money note when a loud cry of “Anne!” jolts her out of focus. She reels around, and her eyes go wide in surprise at the sight of their resident trapeze artists grounded. Anne is on her hands and knees in the dirt, one arm wrapped around her middle. W.D. crouches next to her, looking like he’s seeing a ghost. The bar above their heads is still swinging, which makes it clear that Anne didn’t lower herself down. She dropped from the air.

“Anne, what’s the matter?” W.D. demands, hand on her back like he’s afraid to let her go. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Anne says hastily, sounding choked. She presses a hand over her mouth. “Fine, I just, I —“

A beat passes, and then she takes off out of the tent.

For a moment, all anyone can do is stare after her in bafflement. Then, as the dust lets by her pounding feet starts to settle, W.D. leaps to his own feet and starts after her.

“Hold it,” Lettie jumps in, catching the elder Wheeler by the shoulder. She’d recognize that look on her friend’s face even if she didn’t know Anne so well. Lettie has many memories of working as a laundress, and some of those involved becoming closely acquainted with other women’s secrets. She’s seen that queasy, horrified look on other friends’ faces; and if this is what she thinks it is, Anne probably won’t want to talk to her brother right now.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” she tells W.D. “Let me do it.”

Chest heaving, handsome face creased with worry, W.D. nods.

Lettie finds Anne in her old tent, bent double over a chamber pot. She allows the girl some privacy for as long as it takes to empty her stomach; then, gently, she places a hand on her shoulder and helps her to her feet.

“The flu’s going around,” Lettie suggests.

Anne nods. Her face is wan, lined with sweat; but the exhaustion in her eyes is most prominent of all. “Yeah,” she answers. “So I’ve heard.”

Lettie hesitates. “But… it’s not the flu, is it?”

“No,” Anne sighs. “It’s not.”

Anne doesn’t need help getting to bed, but doesn’t push her away. It seems like she’s grateful for the company, so Lettie sits down next to her. For a moment she hesitates, not sure what the right thing is to say. In the end, she just takes Anne’s hand.

Her wedding ring is absent from her fingers; she has to take it off while working in the air. The impression it left, however, can still be seen in the band of reddened skin around her ring finger. Lettie traces her finger over it, smiling to herself.

“You’re lucky,” she tells her. “You’ve got a husband who loves you more than the moon.”

“He does.” Anne laughs to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She looks like she wishes she could cry. “But he doesn’t… doesn’t understand.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need to,” Lettie replies softly. Her hand comes to rest on Anne’s back, and the younger girl doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans into her touch. “You can’t ask men to understand everything, you know. He might not understand, but I know he’ll be thrilled. The moment you tell him --”

Anne purses her lips. Lettie stops, brows furrowing. “You’ve _got_ to tell him, honey.”

Anne places a hand over her stomach, still flat under the constraints of her leotard. “I just… don’t know if I’m ready.”

Lettie sighs. When Anne hangs her head, she looks dangerously close to crying. Determined to avoid that at any cost, Lettie tucks an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. Anne buries her face against Lettie’s shoulder, hugging her like she’s the best friend she has in the world. (Lettie would never go so far as to call herself that; but in this moment, it might be true.)

“Maybe,” she says slowly into the crown of Anne’s hair, “you don’t have to be that, either.”

* * *

 

_iii. charity_

When Charity shows up at show rehearsal one Friday afternoon, everyone is completely surprised.

Any of the Barnums visiting is always cause for great preparation among the circus. Phineas still makes guest performances once in a while (Charity supposes that, for a man who’s always in motion, completely retiring might be as possible as trying to stop a speeding train barehanded.) The troupe puts on a good show every night, but when the Barnums visit, Charity knows they go the extra mile. They shine a little brighter, song a little louder, dance a little harder. They want to show the family who helped build this place that their legacy is in good hands.

Today, she isn’t here to see the show, but she is sure to say hello to everyone anyway. She chats with Tom and the Lord of Leeds for a few moments, accepts a kiss on the hand from Prince Constantine, applauds the new dances some of the girls are working on, and stops by Lettie’s tent for a quick conversation.

Lettie is busy working on her makeup for the night’s show. She seems uncomfortable looking at Charity, almost like she’s ashamed of herself.

“It wasn’t my place to tell anyone,” she says. “It’s just… I’m worried. The poor girl’s putting so much stress on herself over it that I’m worried she’ll make herself sick. She doesn’t know how to handle this… and I’ve never had any children myself. I hope you don’t feel I’m overstepping any bounds here…”

“Of course not.” Charity shakes her head, passing Lettie a jar of eyeshadow. When the other woman catches her eye, Charity gives a reassuring smile. “Thank you for telling me — and you can trust my discretion. I’ll talk to Anne.”

Lettie looks as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

When Charity makes her way towards the top of the tent, where the acrobats rest after their performances, she finds W.D. just stepping off of his platform. The younger Wheeler is nowhere to be found.

He swipes sweat from his face with a cloth, bending over to take a sip of water. When he notices her, he straightens up immediately. “Mrs. Barnum!” he exclaims, smiling widely. “I hadn’t heard you were visiting today.”

“Surprise!”

Charity exchanges a few moments' conversation with him. She’s always liked W.D. — found him clever and funny, with an intellect as keen as his skills in the air. After she asks about the latest book he’s been reading, she gets around to the real purpose of her visit. “Have you seen Anne around anywhere?”

W.D. points her towards his old tent, near the far end of the fairgrounds. Charity is surprised; she knows Anne no longer lives there, having moved into Phillip’s apartment after their wedding.

“She wasn’t feeling well during practice.” W.D. wrings his hands, a clear tell of anxiety. “Said she had a headache. I told her to go back and lie down for a while.”

That Anne’s brother is worried about her could not be more obvious. Charity remembers that the Wheeler siblings only family are each other, and she’s seen firsthand how protective W.D. is of his sister. She gives his shoulder a quick, comforting squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” she promises. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

When she finds Anne, the girl isn’t laying down, or in bed at all. She’s standing in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. Her shawl is pulled tightly around her shoulders, but as she examines her side profile, Charity recognizes that her eyes are fixed on her stomach.

When Anne catches sight of Charity’s reflection in the mirror, she lets out a gasp and reels around. “Mrs. Barnum!”

“Sorry,” Charity says immediately. “I would have knocked, but —“ She raps her knuckles against the fabric of the tent in demonstration. Anne lets out a flustered laugh, ruffling her curls, and tries to pretend that what she was just doing wasn't terribly obvious.

“Can I — can I help you with something, Mrs. Barnum?”

“Me? No, thank you. That’s very kind.” Charity takes a cautious few steps into the tent; when Anne doesn’t look more uncomfortable, she takes that as an okay to sit at the end of the bed. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Anne? We haven’t talked since the wedding!”

“Yes, it’s been a little while.” Anne smiles, but it looks forced, like she has to make an effort to paste it on. “How have you been?”

“Very well, dear.” Charity folds her hands in her lap before chancing a sideways glance at Anne. “And you?”

Anne hesitates. She seems to be reading Charity’s expression, trying to figure out exactly what the other woman is getting at. Anne is sharp; and she’s been on her guard for the past few weeks. It won’t be hard for her to figure it out.

“Just fine,” she answers after a few seconds. “A little under the weather, but I’ve been alright. I’m lucky, I guess.”

“You are,” Charity agrees, offering her a smile. “Very lucky indeed!”

Anne sighs. Her face falls, and Charity feels her optimism drop with it. “Mrs. Barnum, we should stop jumping through hoops here. How… how did you find out? I only told Lettie.”

“Lettie is a very good friend,” Charity replies, words coming slow as she thinks each one over. She can’t afford to say the wrong thing and have Anne pull away from her. “She’s worried. She thought I might be able to talk to you from a more personal standpoint... seeing as I’ve been through it myself before.”

A flash of frustration crosses Anne’s face. It is just as quickly replaced by a frown, more conflicted than hostile. Charity allows herself to breathe easier. “You have two beautiful girls. It’s been very easy for you, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, not at all. Having a family is never easy. But it can be the most amazing thing in the world if you want it.” She lets her words hang in the air, studying the frown on her companion’s face. After a few seconds, she takes the younger girl’s hand. “Do you want it, Anne?”

“Yes,” Anne answers immediately — then bites her tongue. She has to take a deep breath before she’s able to continue. “I want that, I always have. And I know Phillip wants it too. If I told him, he’d… he’d be over the moon.”

“You haven’t told him, though.”

She sees the moment the truth breaks through the shell of armor Anne has retreated inside of. Her face breaks; her eyes grow bright with emotion. All her attempts to preserve herself have done little. She is hurting and vulnerable, afraid of the turn her life has taken. Charity knows that her viewpoint is skewed (she has had such luck and happiness with her family, after all) but that Anne can’t be happy during what ought to be an amazing time in her life fills her with sympathy.

Charity squeezes Anne’s hand tight, moving it to her lap. After a few seconds, Anne lays her other hand on top of her first one, and squeezes Charity tight.

“He doesn’t understand what it’s like, Mrs. Barnum!” she gasps. “To grow up in a world that only sees the color of your skin — to be judged for it! Both our parents were black, but I was born light, while my brother is dark. We faced all of the same, though -- and had to learn how to deal with it. Our children would be born into that same world, those same circumstances. In the eyes of the world, they will be colored children.” Defiantly, she blinks back tears, heaving a shaky breath. “And… I’m not sure I can bring babies into a world that’s gonna judge them. Phillip wouldn’t understand; he _can’t.”_

The truth of Anne’s words hangs in the air above them. There is no right thing for Charity to say; like Phillip, she has never experienced the discrimination that has marred the Wheeler siblings lives. Still, there is no reason for Anne to feel like this is a battle she must face on her own. “He can try. Even if he can’t understand, he’ll support you no matter what.”

Anne presses a hand to her face, huffing into it. She swipes away the few tears that crept down her cheeks. “I know he will. He’s ready…” She lets out a half-hysterical laugh, clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m not. I’m not. I love my life, I love performing. I don’t want to give all that up for a baby.”

“There’s no need for you to give anything up,” Charity reassures her. “The air will always be yours, and you’ll always be able to perform if you want it.” Besides, Caroline is nearly eleven. Charity has no doubt that in a few years, Anne will have some very eager babysitters on her hands.

“Take your time,” Charity urges, giving her hand a squeeze. “You _will_ get there. When that baby comes out, everything will fall into place. I know from experience — after all, I’ve had two!”

Anne offers a small smile. It’s tired and lined with anxiety, but it is real; Charity suspects it’s the first time she’s genuinely smiled in a long while. “And here I am... never even actually said it yet!”

“Well, there’s a good place to start.”

“I’m… pregnant.” Anne presses a hand over her lips, looking astonished. “That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud before.”

“Hearing it is strange, huh?” Charity asks. “Makes it feel a lot more real.”

Anne squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying it.”

Charity just stays at her side, holding her hand tight, as her friend’s shoulders begin to shake with silent laughter. She listens to Anne murmur the same words, over and over, until they are a constant stream pouring from her lips; until she owns them.

“Remember,” Charity says, once Anne has finally fallen quiet to catch her breath. “Anything you need, I’ll be right here. Don’t hesitate for a minute.”

“Thank you,” Anne tells her, voice brimming with warmth. “I can’t say how much I appreciate that.”

From one mother to another, Charity is determined not to let her friend go through this alone. Anne has a bigger support network behind her than she even knows. Once she realizes that, maybe she’ll finally be ready to tell Phillip about the baby.

Until then, Charity will help Anne as much as she needs.

* * *

 

_iv. caroline and helen (and p.t.)_

Helen has always wanted a baby sister.

She’s had dolls, of course (if she asked her father, she knows he’d get her more dolls than she could ever want) but that’s not the same thing. Dolls are a lot of fun when you’re playing with them, but they don’t laugh. They don’t cry. They don’t do funny things like crawl around on the floor and make people trip or shriek when you jump out at them. Dolls are good to a point, but they’re nothing like the real deal.

“What was I like as a baby?” she asks Caroline once. Caroline was only two years old when she was born, so it’s not like she could really _appreciate_ a little sister. She still crinkles her nose anyway.

“You cried a lot, and Daddy had to keep waking up at night to get you to stop. You put everything in your mouth. You smelled bad.” Her eyes light up. “Just like now!”

Helen winds up chasing Caroline around the house, only stopping when Caroline runs shrieking into Daddy and leaps up to the safety of his arms. Helen can’t reach her there, so she’s forced to pull back and wait for another reckoning.

She still thinks having a baby would be the best thing in the world.

That’s why she’s been paying a lot more attention to Anne over the past few weeks.

Anne has been coming around the house a lot. Helen and Caroline are both thrilled, of course, because Anne is one of their favorite people. She’ll braid their hair and teach them how to do cartwheels, bring Caroline flowers or Helen pretty buttons for her growing collection. Anne is beautiful, funny, and really smart. Getting to see Anne always makes it a really great day.

However, lately Anne has been coming over more and more — just to sit in the parlor and talk to Mama.

Helen isn’t sure if she’s not supposed to notice how often Anne is visiting, or she’s just not supposed to say anything. (The one time she did ask why Anne kept coming over so much, Mama shushed her and replied that, “Miss Anne is very excited about something, but is also very worried, so talking about it helps her.”) Either way, she can tell that something weird is going on.

One of the more frustrating things about being eight years old is that people don’t think you _notice_ anything. Adults will do whatever they want, and sometimes it’s like you’re not even there to begin with — like being below eye-level makes them forget you exist.

It annoys Helen an awful lot, but she’s learned to use it to her advantage.

As long as she’s quiet, Mama and Anne sometimes don’t notice she’s hanging around. (She also isn’t above hiding under tables or behind curtains to get closer to the action. Daddy wouldn’t call this snooping, just “being opportunistic”, which Helen’s pretty sure is a good thing.) She’s not trying to be nosy, really — she can’t help it if she happens to overhear things. While they sit in the parlor and sip their tea, Helen might just... happen to be nearby.

So when she hears Anne say “baby,” she scrambles out from behind the door like she’s been shot out of a cannon.

“Caroline! Caroline!” she runs shrieking up the stairs — but remembering that she’s not supposed to draw attention to herself, she lowers it to a soft yell by the time she gets to her sister’s room. “Caroline!”

Caroline looks up from coming her doll’s hair. “What?”

“A baby!” Helen scrambles atop her sister’s bed and starts bouncing. “Anne is gonna have a baby!”

“Where’d you hear that?!”

“She just said it to Mama!” Helen replies — and then Caroline is bouncing with her, both of them dissolving into squeals of excitement.

There’s so much they can do with a baby. They can dress her up in adorable outfits, or paint her face with Mama’s makeup (maybe Mama will even help). They can make the baby wear Helen’s Lettie-beard and take it around the circus for everyone to ‘aww’ at… Anne can _take the baby up on the trapeze with her!_

“A baby, a baby,” Helen sings. “We’re having a baby —“

“We’re having a _what?”_

Daddy has frozen in the doorway, his arms full of old paperwork. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open. He looks the same way he did when Mama cut her finger chopping carrots. (Daddy took one look at the blood and fainted in the middle of the kitchen.) Right now, he looks ready to pass out all over again.

“A _baby!”_ Caroline squeals.

That’s all Daddy needs to hear. “Thank you,” he says quickly, and spins around. The papers in his arm drop to the floor in an enormous avalanche that almost swallows him up; by the time the girls can see through it, their father is running down the stairs.

“Charity!” he cries. “We’re having a _what?”_

Caroline and Helen exchange wide-eyed looks before rushing after him.

By the time they get there, Daddy is standing in the doorway, bracing himself on both sides of the doorway like he’s going to fall over if he doesn’t. _“Charity,”_ he says, as if he’s begging her. “Really?”

For a moment, Mama and Anne blink back at him, with no idea what he’s talking about. Helen sees the moment Mama does the math. Her eyes flicker between her husband’s wide eyes and her two daughters’ sheepish faces. She glances at Anne, whose face is flushed, then sighs.

“No, Phin. We are not having a baby.”

Anne softly clears her throat. “I am.”

For a moment, nobody speaks. Anne is blushing redder than a cherry, while both Caroline and Daddy stare at her. (Helen just grins, thrilled to have gotten the news first for once.) When Daddy laughs, he sounds a little like he’s ready to cry.

“Anne, that is — _fantastic_ news! I’m so happy for you — so, _so_ delighted —“

“Dear,” Mama interjects calmly, “who told you that we were having the baby?”

Daddy shakes his head. “The girls said it.”

Caroline and Helen exchange startled glances. Mama stares at them. “They did, did they?”

Caroline is always very good at looking innocent any time she doesn’t want to be caught doing something bad. It makes Helen furious that she’s the only one who ever sees through it. She bats her eyes, tilting her chin down, and gives an exaggerated shrug. “Helen told me.”

Mama sighs, placing a hand on Anne’s back as she arches her brows at her family. “I see,” she says. “Clearly we need to have a little conversation about _secrecy.”_

Helen has no idea why everyone is looking at her.

* * *

 

_v. w.d._

“W.D, I need to talk to you,” Anne says after their last rehearsal of the night.

W.D. lands neatly on the arena floor. The rope he used to support himself in the air swings past his head and out of reach. His muscles are burning; a healthy sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. As if performing two shows today wasn’t enough, they've just rehearsed for an hour.

On any ordinary matinee day, they would not have put in extra practice afterwards -- and never this late into the night. The rest of the circus is in bed already; only the two trapeze artists remain awake, flipping and tumbling through the air. It is past midnight now, and W.D. feels worn out, in that pleasant sort of way that comes after a day of hard work. As soon as he lies down, he knows he’ll pass out.

He doesn’t mind the extra work, though. The moment Anne came up to him after the show and said to him, “We’ve gotta practice,” he knew it was something important.

His sister has been distant lately. She’s laughed less, seemed more tired, stayed at the circus more nights instead of returning home after shows. W.D’s first thought, of course, was marriage trouble; but when he went to talk to her husband, Carlyle was just as baffled and concerned. Anne hasn’t just been pulling away from W.D, she’s been keeping everyone at arm’s length.

(Everyone except Lettie and Mrs. Barnum. W.D. isn’t sure what to make of that, but at least Anne has _somebody_ to talk to.)

So when Anne asked to practice tonight, W.D. realized that it was going to be _the_ night. Either his sister was going to come clean about what was going on with her, or he’d find out for himself.

He stretches his arms above his head, flexing sensitive muscles, as he turns around. Anne is tying up one of the ropes, her back to him. She is trying to avoid meeting his eyes, which is what she always does when she isn’t sure how to say something.

“I’m not gonna be able to perform for a while,” she finally tells him in a low, even voice.

W.D.’s eyebrows shoot up, and his arms fall back to his side. He takes a few cautious steps forward. “How come?”

All of a sudden, his mind is buzzing with memories of the past month -- Anne looking worn out and exhausted, having to run out of the ring in the middle of rehearsal, coming down with headaches and backaches and everything under the sun. He’d hoped whatever’s on her mind was just affecting her, but… maybe it’s the other way around. Could his sister be _sick?_

No way. Anne would have told him. Anne would have told her husband, at least, if anything was wrong… but W.D. thinks of how their mother wasted away in front of their eyes before letting them know how sick she was; and thinks of his sister has the same fierce, stubborn light that always glistened in their mother’s eyes. He can’t help the fear that tightens his throat.

Anne still doesn’t turn around. Her back is tense. Her shoulders are set, as if she’s prepared for a blow at any second.

“I don’t think it would be good for the baby.”

Her words don’t sink in for a second, like she’s speaking a different language. Then they slide into place, and everything else goes along with them. It’s like nailing a difficult jump, or figuring out a riddle he’s been turning over in his mind for days. _Revelation._ Everything makes sense.

“You’re kidding,” says W.D.

Anne rounds on him like a shot, fire in her eyes. “Do I _look_ like I’m kidding you?”

“You…” A baby. His little sister is going to have a _baby._ “You’re _kidding!”_

“W.D,” Anne sighs, but she starts laughing when her brother sweeps her up in his arms. He spins her around, gripping her close — then quickly letting go when he remembers she’s _growing another person_ inside of her.

“You don’t know how worried I was about what’s been going on with you!” He grips his sister’s shoulders, taking in her familiar face. Imagining Anne with a gaggle of little kids around her, sharing those same features, that same temper and bravery… it’s almost too much to imagine. (A bunch of mini-Anne’s is almost enough to send the beleaguered big sibling in W.D. running, but the rest of him is thrilled.) “I asked Carlyle, _he_ said he didn’t know a thing —“

“That’s cause he doesn’t.”

The smile slips off W.D.’s face. Anne won’t meet his eyes again. She’s _guilty._ As her brother gapes at her, she shuffles her feet like there’s something nasty on her shoes.

Oh, for god’s sake, why can’t things ever be simple? If W.D. ever falls in love, he’s going to do things as easy as possible. No running into fires to prove his love or staging elaborate proposals to convince his girl they really are meant to be. Why do his sister and her beau make everything so damn _complicated?_

“Annie. You gotta tell him.”

“I know!” exclaims Anne, throwing up her hands. “I… I've been over this a million times in my head, but I don’t know _how._ I don’t know what to say. And even though I know it’s okay, he’s gonna be thrilled, I just… just…” She wilts at his stern expression.

“You’re afraid anyway. Afraid of having a mulatto baby. Afraid of what the world’s gonna think. That you won’t be able to protect them.” He studies her carefully. “Don’t even _tell_ me you’re afraid you’re not gonna make a good mother.”

Anne doesn’t answer.

W.D. sighs. Without saying anything, he pulls his sister into his arms.

It takes a moment for Anne to react -- maybe she’s stunned, maybe upset, maybe so relieved she doesn’t know how to bear it — but when she finally squeezes back, W.D. swears his ribs crack. His sister hugs him with a ferocity that makes it clear just how long she’s been wanting to tell him. He thinks of Anne with this secret inside her, hiding it from the people she loves most. The idea is almost as painful as the fact that he didn’t suspect a thing.

(To be fair, he does have limited experience with pregnant women. But lord, how did he not even have a _clue?)_

“You’ve got this,” he tells her. That’s the thing about his little sister: she can handle anything. She’s always been stronger than W.D. that way, determined to do everything and do it perfectly, to let no one prove her wrong. Anne’s only fears come from inside of her. Once she gets over them, she spits in the faces of anyone who tries to break her down.

Anne is going to make an amazing mother.

Eventually, his sister relaxes. The tension melts out of her shoulders; she grows comfortable in the tight embrace. W.D. squeezes her, running a hand down her messy curls. “I’m gonna be an uncle.”

She laughs out loud. “You sure are.”

“And you’re gonna be a mom.” He pauses for a minute, contemplating. “Lord help that child when you try to bring him on the trapeze with you.”

Anne smacks his arm. “Not ‘til he’s old enough.”

He laughs again, but then grows serious. They both know that there’s an issue here bigger than any insecurity Anne is battling. “You gotta tell him,” W.D says again.

Anne lowers her eyes. “I know.”

For a moment, they are quiet. Neither of them know the right thing to do next, and W.D. can’t tell Anne how to go about this anyway; so he just keeps quiet, strokes her hair, lets her glare at the frayed collar of his workout shirt as she thinks.

When Anne lifts her head, her eyes are wide; but there is determination in her face that is all the reassurance W.D. needs. Things are going to work out.

“I think I know how to do it,” she finally declares, breathless. “But I need your help.”

He doesn’t hesitate before standing up straighter. “Anything you need.”

* * *

 

_vi. phillip, finally_

If W.D. hadn’t been the best man at their wedding just a few months back, Phillip would be sure his wife’s brother was going to kill him.

Maybe that’s a little extreme. To be fair, he and W.D. have butt heads in the past (for good reasons). There are just very few explanations he can come up with as to why the elder Wheeler is escorting him out to the middle of nowhere at twilight.

They’re up in the richer, more spacious area of town, far away from the city. This is where all the wealthy society members keep their beachside mansions. Phillip’s own parents don’t live far from here. He wandered these shores as a boy, clambered over rocks and dipped his toes in the tide until his parents scolded him for it. He remembers this place; he just never thought he would return.

Why W.D, of all people, is leading him out here is a mystery. They’re still walking along the beach, but they’re far enough away from people that their privacy is guaranteed. If Phillip screamed at the top of his lungs, no one could hear him.

(Again with thoughts of danger. He reminds himself that W.D. is definitely not going to kill him. He’s had plenty of opportunities already. If he thinks Phillip has done something to hurt his sister, W.D. is a rational man who knows how to use his words. Still — the middle of nowhere late at night sends Phillip’s imagination running wild.)

As if he can read these thoughts, W.D. looks over at him and grins. “You okay, Carlyle? Scared of the dark?”

Phillip holds his lantern up a little higher. It lights the empty beach up ahead, revealing nothing as they continue to walk. “Fine,” he replies tersely. “I’d just like to know where we’re headed.”

“I told you. It’s a surprise.”

“Strange place for a surprise.”

“By now, you should realize that we circusfolk never do anything normal.” Phillip swears he hears W.D. add, “or easy”, under his breath, but his imagination could just be acting up again.

“It’s just…” If they keep going, they’re going to reach Firefly Point. Phillip remembers _that_ better than any other spot on this beach. He’s told Anne about it before — in one of their quiet moments, when she rested her chin atop his bare chest and asked what his happiest childhood memories were. It took Phillip a few moments to think, but he always went back to the fireflies.

There’s this one spot on the beach where they absolutely infest. The rest of the shore might be periodically lit up by tiny bursts of light, but over the hill, in the grassier part of the beach, they’re _everywhere._ They dance over the sea like fire; they fill the air, never bold enough to land on you or get too close, but lighting up the night like a thousand blinking stars. Before the glow of spotlights or Anne swinging through the air, Phillip would have called Firefly Point the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

As a boy he used to run barefoot under the canopy of fireflies, letting them light his way. He’d catch them in his hands and release them into the air. He jumped, twirled, flopped down on the sand and laughed up at the sky. Firefly Point was a place where, just for a moment, he could be free.

Surely they can’t be heading there now?

Still, W.D. walks on, and all Phillip can do is follow him. It’s obvious that the other man won’t be answering any of his questions. All Phillip can do is keep walking, following the light of the setting sun and his own hazy memories.

Finally, his eyes land on a hill up ahead, obscuring what’s beyond from view. “This is it,” he says. “Firefly Point.”

He takes a few more steps forward before he realizes that W.D. isn’t following. When he turns, he’s surprised by the smile on his brother in law’s face. He doesn’t get the chance to say a word before W.D.’s hand comes down on the center of his back — not rough, but hard enough to make him stumble forward. “Good luck, Carlyle,” his brother-in-law tells him. “And congratulations.”

“Congratu — _what?”_

Phillip stumbles over the hill and stops in his tracks.

Firefly Point is exactly as he remembers. As the sun sinks in the purple sky, the entire beach is illuminated with a breathtaking glow. Yellow stars seem to flicker over their heads; a canopy of fireflies stretches as far as he can see. They dance and whirl around him, never getting to close, but keeping night from settling over the secluded beach. And there, standing in the middle of it all, is a figure in a long white dress. Her curls are loose around her head. Bare feet sink into the sand. She is haloed by light.

Anne looks up at him and smiles. “Surprise.”

Phillip takes a few steps forward, blinking his eyes in wonder. He doesn’t know what to say.

Anne is _beautiful_ backlit by the fireflies. Everything about her seems to glow, from the rich honey of her skin to the halo of golden light surrounding her head. Her eyes are bright, and when she beams at him, she looks ethereal.

“I — Anne, what —“ He can’t help laughing. “What is this?”

Slowly, Anne walks towards him, and takes his hands. “I haven’t been myself lately. I know you’ve been worried. Now I’m ready to tell you why.”

“You can tell me anything,” Phillip says immediately. She hangs her head, still smiling, as if she’s known that all along.

“I’ve been… worried. I didn’t know if we were ready, or if I was ready, and I was… scared. Because the world will always treat us differently, and I didn’t want to bring anyone else into that. I wasn’t sure… I’d be able to protect them.” She takes a deep breath and looks back up at him again. “But I know we’ll do our best. I know you’ll stand by our sides through it all. And… I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wanted to be a Mamma.”

“A — oh my god.” The color drains out of Phillip’s face. He feels his heart freeze in his chest.

“We’re gonna have a baby, honey,” Anne whispers, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I’m pregnant. We’re gonna have a family.”

“A family.” He practically whimpers the word. When he grips Anne close, gazing at her desperate for confirmation, she just nods her head. Phillip lets out a strangled gasp and hugs her tight.

“A baby,” he echoes, rocking her in his arms. He can feel tears stinging his eyes, making his throat feel swollen and thick. It's a struggle to fight them back; he is _not_ about to start crying on his wife's shoulder in the middle of one of the best moments of his life. “Oh my god. We’re going to be —“

 _“Parents,”_ Anne finishes, just as emotional as he is.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t waste time before kissing her. Those lips are as familiar to him as they’ve ever been. He’s charted their ridges, memorized all the ways they can move against him, but he still finds himself surprised every day. Anne always manages to surprise him.

And god, he’s never felt more swept off his feet.

They kiss for so long that he forgets how to breathe. When Anne finally breaks away, her hands still cupping his face, it takes a minute for his lungs to kick in again. She’s smiling at him, on the verge of collapsing into giggles. “Poor W.D,” she whispers, “is waiting for us.”

“Thanks, W.D!” Phillip calls, tossing a wave over his shoulder, before kissing his wife again.

There’s a lot to work out, a lot to get ready for, a lot to be sure of. That’s okay; they’ve got time. Neither of them can be sure what this new addition to their lives will bring, but Phillip has found himself sure of very little these past two years — only that he is devoted to the circus, in love with Anne Wheeler, and that surety is overrated.

It’s okay to be anxious. They don’t need to be sure about a single thing. They’re going to start a family together — and whatever that brings them, well, Phillip is ready to face it head-on.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [abroholoselephanta](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/) and i’m still accepting The Greatest Showman prompts!


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